The Wicked One Page 6

  Never before had he been so fascinated by a pair of ankles, yet here he stood like a damned green lad staring at them. Enthralled by them. And by her.

  As though his thoughts had called out to her, Selina suddenly turned her head and looked straight at him.

  Though from this distance, and with the autumn sun bouncing off the window pane, it wouldn’t be possible for her to see him standing there, he felt as though she did. And the small smile that hovered around that distractingly kissable mouth made him feel as though she knew exactly what he was thinking, too.

  Philip shook his head and stepped back from the window.

  He was being foolish. The woman couldn’t bloody well hear this thoughts. She wasn’t a witch. She didn’t possess any mind-reading powers.

  He thought back to the previous night. When she’d helped Timmy. When she’d listened to his mad ramblings about seeing Charlotte. When she’d nodded as though she believed and even understood what he was saying.

  She’s a wicked one, my lord.

  Mrs. Leary’s dire warning rattled in his head.

  Was Selina ‘wicked’? Or was she the only person who could help his family heal?

  Only time would tell.

  Chapter Nine

  “T

  his is the room his lordship insisted you have.”

  Selina bit back a smile at the housekeeper’s sour tone.

  She could well imagine how much it galled the woman to have to treat a gypsy girl with anything other than contempt. Especially a gypsy girl who dared to be a guest of the lord of the manor.

  “It’s right beside Master Timothy’s. And,” she continued with yet more frost in her tone, “only two doors down from his lordship’s. These are the family quarters.”

  She glared at Selina as though she’d somehow tricked the earl into giving her a room in the family quarters.

  In truth, Selina was just as shocked by the fact as the housekeeper clearly was. While she understood that Lord Breton wanted her near Timothy, she’d assumed that she’d be in the nursery in place of his nursemaid, who’d been reluctantly taking care of the lad.

  And she had worried about where Agnes would stay, with that being the case. However, Agnes had been placed in a beautifully situated room beside this one and was even now happily unpacking and marvelling over the rose-coloured bedding and wall hangings. The concern she’d voiced about their staying here seemingly forgotten in the face of such a luxurious setting.

  Given that the housekeeper didn’t seem inclined to actually enter the room, Selina squeezed by her and took in her surroundings.

  This room was a cool, refreshing blue. It was light and airy even though the sky outside was a muddy grey.

  A pleasant fire crackled in the hearth and the bed, the most comfortable looking Selina had ever seen, was draped in satin coverings the same colour as the walls.

  It was so beautiful, so opulent, that Selina felt a little out of place.

  “I assume you don’t expect one of my maids to assist you.”

  Mrs. Leary’s voice sounded from the doorway, and Selina turned to face the obvious disdain coming from the woman.

  “I don’t need anyone to assist me,” she answered evenly.

  Suddenly, the housekeeper darted forward.

  “The old master would be turning in his grave to know the likes of you were staying here. Fancying yourself fit to be the guest of an earl.”

  If the woman’s vicious words weren’t enough to prove her hatred, the angry red flush and furious glare would have done the trick.

  Selina merely raised her chin.

  “I am not here as the guest of the old master. Nor am I here to answer to you.”

  Her calm demeanour seemed to anger the housekeeper further, and she stepped closer to Selina, their faces now only inches apart.

  “You think you can seduce him, is that it? Like you did to my boy? Only you won’t think yourself too good for an earl, will you?”

  “I didn’t –“

  “You’re no better than your mother, gypsy,” Mrs. Leary hissed. “And you’ll end up just like her.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and stomped from the room, leaving Selina standing in the middle of it and wondering just what she had gotten herself into here.

  She took a steadying breath and determined to put the housekeeper’s vitriol from her mind. She’d known that she wouldn’t exactly receive a warm welcome.

  Why then should she allow a bitter old woman’s words to get to her?

  Because you’re worried that there’s some truth in her words.

  Annoyed with herself, Selina turned and set about unpacking the small valise she’d brought.

  A noise sounded behind her, and she turned to see Timothy standing in her doorway, his light brown eyes huge as he stared up at her.

  “Good afternoon, Timothy.” She smiled down at him, waiting for him to speak or even move. But he just stood there. Staring.

  “Would you like to come in?” she asked him gently.

  “Papa says you’re going to stay with us,” the boy said shyly, though Selina was pleased to see that he took a definite step into the room.

  Gaining his trust was important.

  “Indeed I am,” she answered before moving to sit at the small table by the window. There was another chair across from the one she now occupied, and she hoped the lad would come and sit in it. But she couldn’t and wouldn’t force him to.

  He was a shy little thing. Untrusting and wary. And who could blame him, given what was happening to him?

  “Why?”

  “Well, your papa thought I might be able to help you sleep better at night, Timothy,” she said carefully.

  “Is that why your room is next to mine?” he asked, coming closer.

  “I’m sure it is,” she said. “And Mrs. Healy’s is beside this one. Would you like to meet her?”

  Timothy frowned, and Selina’s breath caught. He looked so like his father.

  “I suppose so,” he said, and Selina couldn’t help but grin.

  “But why is she here?”

  “She’s my friend,” Selina said simply. “And I wanted to have a friend with me.”

  Timothy tilted his head slightly, studying her.

  Selina simply sat and waited.

  Finally, he shuffled closer.

  “I don’t have a friend,” he said softly, and Selina’s heart nearly broke.

  “Isn’t your papa your friend?” she asked.

  Timothy shrugged.

  “He plays with me,” he said with a little frown. “And when I got scared in the nursery, he let me move to the bedchamber beside him, even though Grandmama told him I shouldn’t. Does that mean he’s my friend?”

  Selina couldn’t help but laugh at the innocent question.

  “Why, yes. I believe it does,” she said. “And I hope that now that I’m here, you and I will be friends, too.”

  Timothy smiled widely before his expression became all seriousness again. Far more serious than a child’s should be.

  “You helped the nightmares to go,” he whispered. “You sent her away.”

  The breath caught in Selina’s throat.

  “I’m glad that you’re going to be my friend.”

  Selina couldn’t help herself.

  She jumped from her chair and pulled his little body into a tight hug.

  “I’m glad that I’m going to be your friend, too,” she whispered, holding him close.

  Philip tried not to let panic overwhelm him as he moved from room to room searching for his son.

  Usually, they spent time before the dinner hour together, talking about their day, perhaps taking a walk around the gardens.

  It was unusual, he knew, to have a child join them for their evening meal. But Philip had taken all of his meals with Timmy since Charlotte’s death. He had been more pleased than he could say when Selina had insisted that she wanted to keep
Timothy close, and Mrs. Healy had questioned why on earth the child should be left to his own devices.

  There was a lot to be said, Philip had discovered, for not standing on ceremony or adhering to social constructs. It was an easier, more carefree life for Timothy, and for Philip.

  And Philip didn’t know if it was coincidence or not, but since Selina’s arrival, Timothy hadn’t had any nightmares or terrifying ordeals. He slept soundly and had stopped crying out for Philip or anyone else.

  He’d begun to relax, in truth. And believe that things would be well.

  For over a week now they’d spent their mornings with Selina and sometimes Mrs. Healy. But Philip had taken to leaving Timmy in Selina’s care for the afternoons as he tended to his correspondence and business interests.

  But Philip and Timothy always spent this early evening time together

  Yet he’d been searching for an hour now, and still there was no sign of his son. And all of his old fears and worries were coming back in force.

  The staff, still annoyingly inattentive to his boy, hadn’t seen him. And Cook, who was the only one who could be accused of having a bit of a soft spot for Timothy, had only seen him after luncheon when he’d requested and been granted some of her freshly baked scones and strawberry compote.

  Philip made his way to the gardens, trying not to let his mind wander to the cliff edge, or the choppy ocean, or the deep lake, or anywhere else a seven-year-old might meet danger.

  It was no use, however. By the time he got outside into the blustery autumn day, he was picturing all the ways that Timmy’s body could be lying broken somewhere.

  He took off at a run toward the path that led to the beach. Knowing how much Timmy loved it there, he guessed that would be where his adventurous son would go first.

  But as he passed the large oak tree standing by the gate that led to the beach walk, he heard the distinctive sound of a child giggling.

  Spinning around, he scanned the gardens for the source but couldn’t see any sign of Timmy.

  Another giggle sounded, followed by some rustling.

  “Up here, Papa.”

  Philip looked up into the branches of the tree and there was Timothy, his legs dangling precariously from the branch, his face flushed and grinning. And beside him, wearing a matching expression of delight, was Selina.

  Philip’s ears filled with a curious buzzing as he gaped at his son’s tiny body above him.

  A mist of fear and panic seemed to cloud his vision as he took in the spectacle.

  And much as he tried to tell himself that Timmy was safe and well, Philip’s mind couldn’t seem to stop envisioning his boy plummeting to the ground. Just like his mama.

  “Timothy,” his voice sounded harsh even to his own ears, but there was nothing he could do to temper it. “Get down from there, now.”

  As he watched, Selina and Timothy exchanged a look, and Philip felt a burst of anger that he should be made to feel as though he were wrong or an outsider.

  He stepped forward to assist them both, knowing that he wanted no harm to come to either of them.

  But even as he closed the distance, Selina jumped down, agile as a jungle cat, and was even now reaching up to lift Timothy to safety.

  Once both their feet were planted firmly and safely on the ground, Philip at least felt able to draw a breath.

  But still his heart raced. Still his anger raged.

  “Papa.”

  Timothy dashed over, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

  “Miss Selina showed me all the plants in the garden that you can eat to make you better and the ones that you can’t eat because they make you sick.”

  Philip quickly schooled his features to ensure that his son couldn’t see his anger, instead adopting a smile as Timothy chattered at a mile a minute.

  “And she showed me how to climb the tree safely, only I’m not allowed to do it without her. Or you. Mrs. Healy said she’s too old to save my ar-“

  “Timmy.”

  Selina’s timely interruption might have saved Philip’s head from exploding clean off his neck.

  One week in the company of Selina and her companion, and his son was ready to swear.

  What on earth had he gotten them both into?

  “Why don’t you run back to the house and change out of those clothes? I’m sure your Papa will want you clean and well-presented at dinner. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Without so much as another glance in Philip’s direction, Timmy took off at breakneck speed toward the house.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Philip turned on Selina.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” he hissed, leftover fear and panic reigniting his anger. “He could have fallen. Broken a leg or worse.”

  To his chagrin, Selina seemed completely unmoved by his fury, her face placid, her dark eyes shrewd.

  “He was in no danger,” she answered gently. “The things your son needs to fear are not of this world, Philip. He will come to no harm with me.”

  Her cool composure in the face of his hot anger was enough to make Philip feel like an idiot. And her words once more put the fear of God into him.

  “I just – the thought of him falling—“

  He tried to explain why he had reacted so, but the truth was it sounded irrational because it was irrational.

  Selina stepped forward and placed an arm on his own, and a shock of awareness shot through him at the contact.

  “I understand,” she said, and he knew that she did. “But Philip, you have to let him be a boy. Be a child. You cannot protect him from all the ills of this world. Or even the next. But that’s why I’m here.”

  His throat dried at her words, and as he stood there gazing into those bottomless eyes, the scales fell from Philip’s eyes.

  He couldn’t deny it any longer.

  The pull he felt, the attraction – it wasn’t just that he was grateful to her. It wasn’t just that he believed she would help Timothy.

  He wanted her. With a desire that, if he were being brutally honest with himself, was unlike any he’d felt before.

  And the knowledge that he wanted her this much, more than he’d ever desired his timid wife, was enough to make him feel thoroughly ashamed.

  But not enough to stem the flood of attraction that was threatening to drown him.

  Slowly, he reached out a hand and smoothed his thumb over her satin-soft cheek, revelling in the hitch of breath it induced. The tell-tale widening of her eyes.

  Closing the space between them so nothing but clothing and the last remnants of his sanity separated them, Philip inhaled the lilac scent that he would forever associate with her.

  He shouldn’t, but he bent forward, tantalisingly close to those lips, all the while knowing she should push him away, and desperately hoping that she wouldn’t.

  He hesitated at the last second, knowing that this shouldn’t be happening, torn between doing what he knew was wrong but what felt so damned right.

  But while he stood there struggling with his conscience, Selina made the decision for him.

  Leaning forward, she closed the last torturous distance between them and pressed her lips to his own.

  And the wave of desire that had been threating crashed over them both.

  Chapter Ten

  “Y

  ou’ll be late down to dinner if you keep dallying.”

  Agnes’s voice sounded behind Selina, jolting her from her wool-gathering.

  Jumping from the stool on which she’d been sitting, she spun to face Agnes. To her horror, she felt her cheeks heat under the older woman’s scrutiny.

  “I’m just thinking,” she said defensively. “About – about Timmy.”

  Agnes raised a brow.

  “I am,” Selina repeated firmly.

  “I saw the lad a while back. Sat with him while he rabbited on about his adventures in the tree.”

  “That’s good,” Selina said
, unsure as to where Agnes was going with her tale.

  “Hmm. Said his father arrived and ye sent him back to the house to wash up.”

  “Well, he was dirty from the tree.”

  Selina felt as though the room were heating up by the second.

  “Said you were coming right behind him. Only I sat with the lad for a full thirty minutes and you never arrived.”

  Oh, God.

  She knew.

  Selina damped down the panic that flared at Agnes’s words.

  So what if she knew, in any case? Selina was a woman grown, and she could kiss whomever she pleased.

  Even thinking the word kiss brought back a flood of memory, of sensation, of a need the likes of which she’d never experienced. Not that the memories were far from the forefront of her mind. In point of fact, she’d done nothing but float around her rooms all evening replaying that kiss over and over.

  But she couldn’t show that in front of Agnes.

  “We’re going to be late,” she said now, repeating Agnes’s words of only moments ago.

  “What were you doing?” Agnes asked bluntly, clearly deciding not to skirt around the issue any longer.

  “Philip – that is, Lord Breton, was worried about the boy climbing trees. So, we had a quick discussion in the garden. By the time I got back, I needed to get ready.”

  They stared at each other for an age.

  Agnes knew she was lying, of course. And Selina knew that she couldn’t tell the truth, even as it sat in the room between them.

  “I thought you said you weren’t your mother,” Agnes finally said and shame, anger, and worry that she was, in fact, exactly like her mother bombarded Selina.

  But so, too, did the memory of that kiss.

  Of his lips demanding against her own, his tongue teasing her mouth until a groan was ripped from her, until it plunged inside her mouth and turned her knees to liquid.

  And of his arms, pulling her impossibly close, crushing her body against the rigid muscle of his own.

  She’d never experienced anything like it. And she’d craved more with an animalistic need that should have scared her but only excited her.